Chapter 4 - Ruby
Numbers have always made sense to me. They follow rules, maintain order, and when they don't add up, there's always a logical explanation. People, on the other hand, are unpredictable variables in life's complicated equation.
And Cole Blackwood might be the most perplexing variable I've ever encountered.
I glance up from the invoice I'm examining to find him watching me from the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the space.
He's been doing this all morning—hovering, asking if I need anything, finding excuses to stay close.
When our eyes meet, he doesn't look away like most people would.
He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes my skin warm.
"Did you need something?" I ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
He straightens, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. "Just checking your progress."
"Steady but slow," I admit, gesturing to the organized chaos I've created. "I've sorted expenses by quarter and category, but there are inconsistencies I'm still untangling."
Cole steps into the room, and I swear the air pressure changes. When he leans over my shoulder to look at the spreadsheet on my laptop, I catch that scent again—pine, cedar, and something musky and manly.
"These equipment repairs," I point to a column of figures, trying to ignore how close he stands. "They spike every few months, always around the same time. Is there a maintenance schedule I should know about?"
He hesitates just a fraction too long. "Seasonal wear. Winter is hard on the machines."
I check the dates again. "But some of these are in summer."
Another pause. "Summer jobs are more intensive. More hours on the equipment."
It makes sense, yet something about his explanation feels incomplete. I make a note to circle back to this later.
"I need fresh air," I announce, suddenly aware of how small the office feels with him in it. "Mind if we take a break?"
"Good idea. I could use one too."
The midday sun has burned away the last traces of yesterday's storm, leaving the mountain air clean and crisp.
Cole's cabin sits in a small clearing surrounded by towering pines and maples just beginning to hint at fall colors.
A covered porch wraps around three sides, and as we step outside, I inhale deeply, letting the mountain air fill my lungs.
"It's beautiful here," I say, leaning against the railing. "Do you ever get used to this view?"
Cole stands beside me, his forearms resting on the weathered wood. "No. That's why I built here. I wanted to see it every day."
"You said you expanded what your father left you?"
He nods, eyes scanning the tree line. "Original cabin was half this size. Added the east wing, the wraparound porch, redid the kitchen."
"With your own hands," I observe. "You must be very proud of it."
"It's home." The simple statement carries weight, like home means something more to him than just a place to live.
I stare at him, at his strong jaw dusted with stubble, the slight crease between his brows that never fully relaxes. In the sunlight, I notice flecks of gold in his green eyes, like sunlight through forest leaves.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring.
Heat rises to my cheeks. "Nothing. Just... wondering how someone who builds such beautiful things can keep such messy records."
The corner of his mouth lifts in what might be the beginning of a smile. "Different parts of the brain."
"Fair enough. That's why you hire people like me."
"People like you," he repeats, as if testing the phrase. "Emergency bookkeepers who drop everything to save strangers from the IRS?"
I laugh. "We're a rare breed. Part accountant, part superhero."
"And your superpower is..."
"Finding order in chaos," I reply, surprised by the ease of our conversation. "Seeing patterns others miss."
"You're good at reading people too?"
"Numbers are easier than people." I turn back to the view, surprised by my own candor. "People lie. Numbers don't."
In the distance, a hawk circles lazily on thermal currents, and the wind whispers through the trees. It's peaceful here, removed from the constant noise and hustle of Atlanta. I can see why Cole chooses solitude.
"Your ex," he says suddenly. "He lied?"
I whip my head around, startled. "How did you—"
"Jim mentioned something." Cole has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Said you'd been through a rough time recently."
"Ah." I grip the railing tighter, unsure whether to be annoyed at Jim's oversharing or grateful for Cole's directness. "Yes. Classic story—workaholic girlfriend, bored boyfriend, pretty assistant. Tale as old as time."
Cole's hands clench on the railing, and for a moment, I swear I hear a low growl, though it must be the wind. "His loss."
I don't know how to respond, so I deflect.
"Anyway, ancient history. Six months ancient, to be precise." I straighten up. "We should get back to work. Those expense reports won't categorize themselves."
Cole doesn't move, his eyes still fixed on me. "You deserve better."
There's such conviction in his voice that I feel momentarily unbalanced, like I've missed a step on a familiar staircase. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
The intensity is back, that strange connection I felt when our eyes first met yesterday. Like he can see parts of me I keep hidden. It's unnerving and exhilarating all at once.
The moment stretches between us, taut as a wire, until a phone rings inside the cabin, breaking the spell. Cole blinks, then turns toward the door. "Need to get that. Probably the site foreman."
I watch him go, trying to make sense of what just happened. Of what keeps happening between us. This strange electricity, this feeling of recognition that makes no logical sense.
Numbers are reliable. Predictable. Cole Blackwood is neither of these things, and that should worry me more than it does.
A few hours later…
By late afternoon, we've fallen into a productive rhythm.
Cole brings me files as I need them, answers my questions about the business, and keeps me supplied with coffee and snacks.
When he's not helping me, he works on his laptop at the kitchen table, close enough to hear if I call but giving me space to concentrate.
The system works, and we're making progress, but my mind keeps wandering to our moment on the porch. To the way he looked at me. To the strange comfort I feel in his presence despite having met him just yesterday.
"Ruby?" His voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You've been staring at that same invoice for five minutes."
I blink, refocusing on the paper in my hand. "Sorry. Just trying to make sense of this supplier code."
Cole sets a plate beside my laptop—a sandwich, apple slices, and what looks like homemade potato chips. "Eat. You missed lunch."
"I did?" I check my watch, surprised to find it's after 3 PM. "I lose track of time when I'm working."
"I've noticed." He pulls up a chair, turning it backward to sit with his arms folded across the backrest. "How's it looking?"
I take a bite of the sandwich. Turkey, avocado, and some kind of tangy spread that makes my taste buds sing. "Better than I expected, actually. Your business is fundamentally sound. It's just the documentation that's a mess."
Relief softens his features. "So, we'll pass the audit?"
"If we finish organizing everything? Yes.
" I point to my laptop screen. "You maintain healthy profit margins, pay your taxes on time, and your equipment depreciation schedule makes sense.
The IRS might have some questions about these cash withdrawals, but if we document them properly, it should be fine. "
Cole nods, some of the tension leaving his broad shoulders. "Thank you. For doing this."
"Don't thank me yet. We've still got a mountain of paperwork and less than two days."
"We'll get it done." His confidence is unwavering. "Whatever it takes."
There's that intensity again, like this audit is about more than just his business. Like something larger hangs in the balance.
"Can I ask you something?" I set down my sandwich.
"Anything."
"Why construction? What made you follow in your father's footsteps?"
Cole considers the question, his green eyes thoughtful.
"I like building things that last. Things people can depend on.
" He runs a hand through his black hair, slightly too long and perpetually disheveled.
"Dad taught me that a well-built home protects what matters most. It's not just wood and nails. It's sanctuary."
The passion in his voice resonates with something inside me. "That's beautiful."
He looks almost embarrassed by his own eloquence. "What about you? Why emergency bookkeeping?"
"Less poetic reasons, I'm afraid." I smile, taking another bite of sandwich. "I'm good with numbers, better under pressure, and I enjoy the challenge of tight deadlines. Plus, the pay is excellent."
"No deeper meaning?" His eyes spark with something like amusement.
I shrug. "Maybe I like being the hero who swoops in to save the day. There's satisfaction in fixing things others can't."
"We have that in common, then."
I clear my throat and look away first.
"I should get back to work." I gather my empty plate. "Still so much to do."
Cole stands, taking the plate from my hands. "I need to check something at the construction site. Will you be okay here for a couple hours?"
"Of course. This is my natural habitat—me, paperwork, and silence."
He hesitates, seeming reluctant to leave. "If you need anything—"
"I'll be fine, Cole." I smile reassuringly. "Go do what you need to do."
After he leaves, the cabin feels strangely empty, though nothing has changed except the absence of his presence. I shake off the feeling and dive back into the financial records, determined to make significant progress before he returns.
Two hours stretch into three, and I've hit my stride, inputting data at record speed, creating order from Cole's chaotic filing system. The sun dips toward the horizon, casting long shadows through the office window, but I barely notice, lost in the flow of work.
A sudden noise outside makes me look up. Something large moving through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. Probably a deer, I think, returning my attention to the screen.
The sound comes again, closer this time. A snapping branch, the rustle of leaves. I rise from the desk and move to the window, peering out at the deepening twilight.
At the edge of the tree line, something moves in the shadows. Something large and dark and—
My heart skips a beat as a massive black bear emerges from the forest. It pauses at the edge of the clearing, nose lifted to the air as if scenting something.
I stand frozen at the window, heart now hammering in my chest. I've never seen a bear in the wild before.
It's both terrifying and magnificent, at least 800 pounds of raw power and primal beauty.
As if sensing my gaze, the bear turns its head toward the cabin, toward my window. Our eyes meet across the distance, and a strange sensation washes over me—recognition, almost. Those eyes... an unusual green that seems to glow in the fading light.
For a long moment, we stare at each other, human and bear, separated by glass and space but connected by something I can't name. Then the bear turns and melts back into the forest as silently as it appeared.
I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my hands trembling slightly. Should I be worried? Is it normal for bears to come so close to homes here? Should I call someone?
Call who? The thought makes me laugh nervously. Cole is the local here, and he's not answering his phone. I tried earlier when I had a question about a receipt.
I return to the desk, but my concentration is broken. I keep glancing at the window, half-expecting to see the bear again. There was something about it, something in those strangely intelligent eyes that has left me unsettled.
By the time I hear Cole's truck in the driveway an hour later, the encounter has taken on a dreamlike quality. Maybe I imagined the whole thing, my mind playing tricks after hours of staring at spreadsheets.
The front door opens, and Cole's heavy footsteps cross the living room. "Ruby?"
"In here," I call, saving my work.
He appears in the doorway, and I'm struck again by his sheer physical presence. There's something different about him now, a kind of restless energy simmering beneath his exterior.
"Everything okay?" he asks, eyes scanning my face.
"Fine," I say, then reconsider. "Actually, something strange happened while you were gone. I saw a bear, a huge black bear, at the edge of the clearing."
Cole goes completely still. "A bear?"
"Yes, right at the tree line. It was... looking at the cabin." I shiver at the memory. "Is that normal around here? Should we be concerned?"
He relaxes slightly, though his eyes remain vigilant. "Not unusual in these mountains. They generally avoid humans."
"This one didn't seem afraid at all."
"It didn't approach the cabin, did it?"
"No, it just stood there, then went back into the forest." I study his face, noting the tension around his eyes. "Are you okay? You seem... I don't know, wound up."
Cole runs a hand through his hair, which looks damp, as if he's recently showered. "Long day. Site issues. Nothing to worry about."
Something doesn't quite add up, but I can't put my finger on what. Before I can pursue it, Cole changes the subject.
"Have you eaten dinner? I can make something."
My stomach answers with a growl that makes me laugh. "I guess that's a no. I lost track of time again."
"Come on." He gestures toward the kitchen. "I'll cook while you tell me how much progress we've made."
I follow him, watching as he moves through the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. There's a scratch on his forearm that wasn't there earlier. Fresh, with a thin line of dried blood.
"What happened to your arm?"
He glances down, as if surprised to see the injury. "Branch. The trail was overgrown where I parked."
I accept the explanation, though it joins the growing list of small inconsistencies I've noticed about Cole Blackwood.
The way he sometimes seems to hear things I can't. How he knew I was standing in the doorway this morning without turning around.
The peculiar intensity in his gaze when he looks at me.
None of it makes logical sense, yet somehow it all feels connected to the strange pull I feel toward him. A pull that defies the rational, numbers-based approach I've built my life around.
As I watch him prepare our meal, I realize I'm balancing two contradictory truths: I barely know this man, yet being with him feels strangely familiar. Like coming home to a place I've never been before.
The thought should frighten me. Instead, it wraps around me like the comfort of his cabin in the storm. Unexpected, but precisely what I needed.